In an epoch where whispers masquerade as roars, the silent remain the most vocal. The clamor of introspection, loud yet muted, reverberates through your empty coffee mugs and cat memes. We consume, we scroll, ad infinitum, all while wearing the thick skin of denial as armor.
"Fear stems from the unknown," they say, obliviously acknowledging their own shadow. As if beaconed by an unseen hand, your eyes drift across the void, capturing thousands of messages only to misplace them in the shoals of disinterest. Thus life progresses: one apathetic echo after another—unheard, unseen, unregretted.
Venture forth and glimpse the great compendium of half-hearted gestures—an unread book forgotten in a drawer full of Timelines. Dare to grasp the essence of ironies woven tighter than a hedgehog in a cashmere sweater. Let your echoes speak while your ears remain steadfastly closed.